Except When She Does
by Clair de Lune - CdL
Summary: Maybe it's not Sara that Sofia wants, but what Sara has. (Post-series, alternate canon). One-sided Sara/Sofia, Michael/Sara, Lincoln/Sofia.


**Title: Except When She Does**  
 **Pairings:** one-sided Sara/Sofia, Michael/Sara, Lincoln/Sofia  
 **Author's Note:** Written for Femslash Day 2011.

* * *

She doesn't fantasize about women – about Sara, specifically. Really, she doesn't. From what she can see, she's pretty sure Sara's happy with Michael anyway; _she_ is certainly happy with Lincoln, and she doesn't fantasize about Sara.

Except when she does.

Shopping and working and dinners, days at the beach and nights of talking, arguing and laughing, and... So many occasions to watch and observe her. She moves through life with grace and a hint of _gravitas_ Sofia can't help envying. Maybe it's not Sara that Sofia wants, but what Sara has. Maybe it's because Gretchen and the Company took so much from the two of them – especially from Sara. They both have their scars and bad memories, but Sara seems to have found that quiet state of mind Sofia can't quite reach, even with the support of Lincoln's affection.

In the end, though? It doesn't matter why she thinks about Sara. Same difference. Same heavy feeling in her belly, in her chest, at the small of her back. The reason doesn't matter.

That's one bad case of heroine worship, she thinks with what's left of her sense of humor.

o—o

She gazes with fascination as Michael casually strokes Sara's bare shoulder. It's an instinctive gesture of reassurance that she's here, he's here too, and neither of them is going anywhere.

o—o

She thought – hoped – it was just an odd crush, one that would be short-lived. And it is indeed an odd crush, but not a short-lived one. Lincoln moving above her, inside of her, is the furthest feeling from Sara, how she would make love to her, but the images are vivid behind her eyelids. When she comes, she bites into Lincoln's shoulder not to let out a name that would leave him wondering or questioning.

o—o

The way he looks at her, she has the sensation that LJ knows. But then, LJ ought to know about unrequited desire – more than once, she's caught him watching _her_ the way she probably watches Sara. He was glaringly obvious, and Sofia can only hope she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve in the same way.

o—o

It's so, so clear what Sara and Michael have been doing when Sofia drops by their bungalow with Linc, Sofia can barely tear her eyes off them. Unmistakable glow, shiny eyes, flushed cheeks, and remaining scent of lust and pleasure that no shower can ever wash off entirely.

Sofia wants to light that same sparkle in her eyes, be the one who has her panting and writhing into the sheets or up against a wall.

o—o

As they laze on the warm sand at the beach, Lincoln watches her watching Sara, smirks and leers in a played-up way. He's faking it to tease her; he doesn't actually picture anything because Sara's family, hence off limits. He pretends to imply something dirty that Sofia would never ever fancy, and doesn't realize how close to home he's hitting. Chalking up her lingering looks to curiosity and to some vain drive to compare her figure with Sara's.

She plays along and rolls her eyes. He leans towards her, kisses her neck, and whispers into her ear that if Sara's pretty – and by 'pretty', he means 'hot' – she's not too ugly either.

o—o

Doctor Sara cleans and stitches the cut she indirectly inflicted on Sofia's hand – all because Sofia was too distracted by Sara to pay attention to what she was doing with that knife. The smell of disinfectant mingles with scent of plain soap and warm skin, and her head spins. Sara's kind eyes trail down her shoulders and neck where shivers prickle her skin, then move to her breasts with their stupidly hard nipples; the taut peaks are painfully visible through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"It's going to be okay," Sara says, and Sofia's not sure, will never be sure if she's talking of the small wound or if she's finally noticed something.

o—o

Sara doesn't kiss women. (She usually doesn't _kiss_ any men except Michael either, that said, but that's not the point.)

Except when she does.

It's midnight, right between two years, right under the mistletoe, and Sara's high on a glee that drives her to kiss Michael, and Lincoln, and even Mahone. On the mouth. Mahone chuckles shortly with amusement and embarrassment, Michael squints, and Lincoln lets out a not entirely displeased 'humph' sound. Sofia would glare and protest at another woman kissing him, but she's too busy wanting to be in Lincoln's shoes. Until Sara kisses her too. It's nothing like the mock and outrageous kiss she planted on Lincoln's mouth – kissy lips and loud smack – but a soft, soft one with a hint of teeth grazing Sofia's lower lip and a silky, sure contact.

Warmth and wetness surge and pool low in Sofia's stomach, between her legs, so sharp it's painful. She kisses Sara back.

One of the men catcalls but whatever.

o—o

With a nod of head and a smile, Sara shows her the armchair facing the couch. Grace and _gravitas_ and poise; their knees almost touch once they're seated and Sofia knows she's screwed.

"Let's talk," Sara tells her.

END


End file.
